Mr Malfoy's Daughter
by kkiiittttyyyyy
Summary: For the longest time, I have felt only one kind of emotion for my father.Hate." The last installment of the Malfoy series. Reading the 3 previous ones is recommended but not required. *Slighly REVISED


**Disclaimer: I do not own HP. (Though yes, I would love to own Draco Malfoy. Damn you, Astoria.)**

**A/N: Okay so this is the last installment of the Malfoy series. I have another plot bunny in my head somewhere but I might not be writing it in a while. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! :D**

For the longest time, I have felt only one kind of emotion for my father.

Hate.

***

I've lived in the Malfoy Manor for as long as I can remember – ever since I was born, I presume – yet it holds no special place in my heart. The hallways are long and dark, mounted on its walls are sneering portraits that look down on every unfortunate soul that happens to pass by – me, most especially. Its rooms are quite grand but cold, the sheets made of the finest silk but not the least bit comforting. Probably the only place I've thoroughly enjoyed is the library with its vast collection of books, the rarest – and darkest – volumes readily available.

Standing on Platform 9 ¾ on my first day at Hogwarts, I feel no remorse at finally leaving the Manor – for a few months at least. It is even perhaps the happiest day of my life. For so long, its wrought iron gates and high walls have kept me – my spirit – captive. But today – this morning – I will be _free_. No longer will I have to wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning to bathe, dress up and prepare for my lessons. Nor will I have to spend my afternoons tending to the flowers in my garden or drinking tea with pureblood society matrons and their haughty daughters. At last I will be able to go out and explore, to learn about more important things than Latin or proper etiquette. Perhaps – _perhaps_ – I will even earn myself some real friends.

"Cass, the train is about to leave," Scorpius says, giving me a nudge.

I look up and give my brother a sad smile. Despite my dislike of the Manor, I will miss him a lot. Apart from my avid reading sessions in the library, my long talks with Scorpius are the only other things I look forward to at home. Our relationship as brother and sister is not what you would call perfect. When I was younger, I always thought he hated me. Up to a few of years ago, I believe he probably did. He only began to warm up to me when he caught me two summers ago, staring at the fireplace in one of the studies, the picture of a handsome blonde man burning before my eyes. Scorpius hugged me then and for the first time, I actually felt I had someone in the world.

Yes, it was our mutual hatred for the father who left us behind that actually brought me and him together.

***

"Malfoy, Cassiopeia!"

I gingerly take a step towards the Headmistress. In her hand is the Sorting Hat – the ratty old thing that would more or less determine the course of my Hogwarts life. A last name such as mine more or less assures me of a spot in Slytherin – the house of the cunning and determined purebloods. I don't exactly find myself to be all three. In fact, I don't think I belong in my father's old house at all. I am nothing like him. I hope to never be like him. I am –

"Aha! RAVENCLAW!"

Thank Merlin. Oh thank Merlin.

I make my way towards the Ravenclaw table and give my new housemates a small smile. I've never been a very friendly person. How could I be when I have practically been imprisoned my whole life? I was rarely allowed to step out of our home – no, house – in Wiltshire and knew only a handful of people. Aunt Daphne would visit occasionally and Lady Zabini – that pug-faced matron – came around for tea every Wednesday but that was just about it. I never had any playmates – Aunt Daphne's daughters are Scorpius' age and Blanche Zabini is five years older – and was wholly discouraged to interact with the neighborhood Muggles. The house elves were probably the best company I had.

I always did get along with the house elves better. I think I wanted out more than they did.

***

"Is she mad again, Scorpius?" I ask my older brother fearfully.

"She is…upset," he replies quietly, placing his hand softly on my cheek. "Pay her no mind, Cassiopeia. You know how she gets every Christmas."

I nod my head and get up from the sofa, grabbing a book from the low coffee table. Tucking the it under my left arm, I make my way to the Crimson Room, one of the abandoned salons in the manor. Fresh from Hogwarts, I make the starting realization that the room is actually Gryffindor-themed in terms of color. It seems peculiar that the Malfoys would decorate such a rich and splendid room with the colors of Slytherin's enemy house. Of course, such rivalries are petty and – quite frankly – stupid. I feel blessed to have been in Ravenclaw instead – never mind that people shied away from me – or rather, my last name.

Two adjacent walls of the Crimson Room are lined with bookshelves and I absently trace my finger on the carved wood. It is of a deep shade of brown, mahogany, maybe, though I've never been that good with such things. For a while I contemplate the emptiness of the shelves but later decide that whoever had them put up probably just lost interest in the whole thing - Malfoys were fond of that.

Take my father, for example. He left my mother – no, Astoria (She has never been a real mother to me.) – quite abruptly, around the time I was born, I assume, though Scorpius has declined to give me details. Their separation came with a reason that no one seems to be intent on telling me about and frankly, I am not as interested in it as I used to be. All I am aware of is that my misery, my ruined childhood and my wasted youth, is the result of his selfishness, of his disappearance from the lives of a family that cared for and loved him deeply. Fifteen – or was it sixteen? – years into the marriage and he packs his bags and leaves on Christmas day. She was never the same ever since.

I shake the depressing thoughts from my mind and approach the shelves again. I feel like there is something more to it, something I should know about. Something –

"It was a surprise for her. For Christmas," says a deep voice behind me. I turn to ask him more questions but my brother is already gone.

***

I rather like my Head of House. Luna Scamander is a sweet woman, albeit a little strange. Some of the other students laugh behind her back because of her tendency to get carried away in her own musings but I find her rather endearing. The professor might not seem that sharp or intelligent but I truly think there is more to her than naturalistic fanaticism.

"Professor, may I come in?" I ask timidly.

Professor Scamander removes her pink shaded glasses and motions for me to sit on the chair in front of her. Unlike the other teachers' offices, hers is actually pleasant and relaxing. The walls are filled with all sorts of bright and flowery décor and there are jars with fireflies and other brightly colored insects along the windowsill. I wouldn't mind getting detention here at all.

"What may I do for you, child?"

"Oh, nothing in particular, Professor. It's just that – oh, I don't know – I've been feeling particularly lonely today."

"Loneliness isn't always a bad thing, Miss Malfoy," she says with a smile.

"Yes, yes I know. But – " I blush lightly, feeling rather foolish for running to the Ravenclaw Head for something as petty as being lonely. "It's just that – well – I've been here for a few months now – at Hogwarts, I mean – and yet I sometimes feel like I don't belong," I finish with a sigh.

"How so?"

"I can't…Oh I can't explain it at all!" Tears of frustration threaten to spill over my eyes but I retain my composure and continue to speak. "I don't think I have any real friends here Professor. And I've been wishing for one – even just one – for ever so long!"

"In a way, I understand how you feel. My stay here at Hogwarts was quite miserable until I found them."

I watch the professor reach inside her desk and pull out a photograph. It is one of her from her school days. She looks quite happy. They all do actually. I stare at the faces curiously, a couple of them I recognize from the newspapers. There is Harry Potter and a red-haired girl whom I assume is the Mrs. Potter of late. The other redhead, I assume, is her brother. Their name, I believe, is Weasley – blood traitors, they say. To the far left is a bushy-haired brunette with a moderately pretty face. I feel like I've seen her somewhere. Before I come up with her name, however, a blonde, smirking figure in the background of the photo catches my attention.

Immediately, my eyebrows furrow. Anger boils in my chest as I see the not-so-familiar figure of my father in his teenage years. Professor Scamander seems to notice the change in my mood for she reaches out to put a slender hand on my shoulder.

"You have to understand that he did what he had to, dear. Time was running out, you see," she says in a soft voice.

"No," I reply defiantly.

Her gaze falls on the picture again before looking back up to me. "He loved her, Miss Malfoy. Please don't resent him for that."

***

Today is my twelfth birthday and Scorpius has promised to take me to Diagon Alley. I put on the green dress that he gave me earlier and twirl slowly before the mirror. For once, I find myself looking quite pleasant and can't help but give my reflection a smile. Today will be special. Today, I will finally properly celebrate my birthday.

As a young girl, I had no idea what a birthday party was. No one ever told me, no one ever showed me, no one ever bothered to throw me one. I was eight years old when I happened to read an invitation to Mariah Flint's fifth birthday party. I was in the main salon when a bright pink envelope with flowers around the edges caught my attention. Bored and curious, I opened it slowly and frowned as I read the words. Birthday? Celebration? Why?

Just as I dropped it back to its original place, Astoria swept in and with a frown, took a cup of tea from the tray. Curious about the wonderful things – activities – that I had read about in the card, I gathered enough guts to question my so-called mother.

"Why do we never celebrate my birthday?"

"We celebrate…when there is something to be happy about," she replied flatly. "Go to your room. And keep foolish things out of your head."

I spent the rest that day in tears.

Oh but today, today, she will not be able to spoil anything. Finally, I will be _celebrating_.

"Are you ready, Cass?"

I nod happily when I see Scorpius' blonde head from behind the door and turn to follow him out.

We are standing in front of the fireplace when we hear the swish of robes behind us. Turning around, we see the blonde figure of our mother on the staircase, a sneer etched on her sunken face. She looks menacing, reminding me of a portrait of Grandmother – _his _mother.

"Off to celebrate, are we?" she says snidely. "You are making a mistake Scorpius. Don't be foolish. Be a man. Be the man your father never could be."

I feel the tears in my eyes but fight to control my emotions. She will not spoil my day. This is my first chance of actually having something happy happen on my day. Nothing can go wrong. I can't let her do this to me.

Two warm hands are placed on my shoulder and I hear my brother reply to her tightly, "Let it go mother. It has been years. The sins of the past are to be forgiven."

"The sins of the father – this time they pass on to the daughter."

***

Most of – no, all – the time, I believe that my mother is not happy with the way I turned out. I suspect she was not happy I even turned up in this world at all. For a long time, I have felt that she does not love me. She does not hate me, not really. Astoria – Mother, rather, whatever she is to me – is merely _indifferent_. My presence is unwelcome and my welfare is unimportant. Her feelings can be summarized in that one sentence. I have always wondered why it was so – though an answer is quite unlikely.

I believe that Astoria Greengrass Malfoy wasn't always such a terrible person. On the contrary, I think she was quite pleasant, as far as Slytherins went. The summer before I returned to Hogwarts for my second year, I stumbled upon an old picture album in her bedroom. She was out for the day and I was planning to borrow – steal – some of her bath salts when I noticed it lying on the bed. I picked it up and opened a random page, one with a picture of her smiling and half-hugging a friend during the Hogwarts graduation ball. I was about to scan for more when one of the house elves rushed in and reprimanded me for "messing with Mistress Astoria's things."

Now, as I fumble around in her closet for a scarf that I suspect was mistakenly placed amongst her things, I spy the leather-bound album again. I take it as my chance to finally piece together some of her past.

She seemed to have had a happy enough childhood. Mother and Aunt Daphne were always bedecked in the best dresses and the nicest robes, two very pretty little witches. Her Hogwarts days did not appear to be as sinister as those of the other Slytherins and her life there was probably less affected by the Second Wizarding War. In her year, she was among the more intelligent ones as shown by her graduation awards and seems to have displayed – strangely enough – a kind of light and happy sparkle.

I take it she met my father immediately after she graduated for there were only few pictures of her life in between. Frankly, they made a beautiful pair. That was probably why they had so many taken together.

Astoria Greengrass was clearly smitten with Draco Malfoy. Her eyes said it all. She looked up at him like he was a god, her savior from the sad pureblood fate of arranged marriages, I suppose. And he – well, he, as much as I hate to look at his face – seemed to be quite _fond_ of her also. There was tenderness in his eyes and for her, it was probably enough. It _should_ have been enough.

Photographs of Scorpius are also numerous. I suspect that his childhood was at a time when our parents were the closest to being blissfully in-love. There were pictures of them at balls, of Christmas mornings and vacations in France and Italy. Their sheer number and the fact that she kept most of them make me conclude that she truly loved her little boy.

The pictures abruptly stop at one of Scorpius leaning against a wall at King's Cross Station.

No more Draco. No Cassiopeia.

I am beginning to wonder if I have anything to do with him running away after all.

***

Ever since I was born, I have had a ring on the middle finger of my right hand. I do not know exactly why it is there, what it means or why I can't pull it off. It was probably charmed to stay on my finger and stay on it, it did. I do not mind so much because the ring is quite beautiful – a white gold band encrusted with rubies and emeralds of varying sizes. Still, it would be nice to know _why_.

I never noticed anything wrong with it until earlier this morning when I stumbled into a coffee shop in Diagon Alley. It was owned by one Ronald Weasley, a wizard who was apparently in my father's year. I ordered a cup of their strongest coffee and proceeded to walk around the shops. There were pictures placed on the wall and I spent a good few seconds looking at each. It appeared that Mr. Weasley had gone around a fair bit. There were photos of him in different countries of Europe, Africa, America and even Asia. I silently wished that I could have had as much fun and experience as he. To travel is one of my biggest dreams, after all.

"Mr. Weasley, I love the photographs. How I wish I could have had such a life!" I had told him pleasantly.

"Be careful Miss – "

"Malfoy, Cassiopeia Malfoy." I noticed a sudden flicker of emotion in his eyes but dismissed it when he continued on with his statement.

"Miss Malfoy. If you knew what drove me to run from Britain…Well, let's just say it wasn't always something I could look back on without crying all over the place," he said with a small smile.

Bewildered but still curious, I continued to peruse the photographs until I spotted one of a familiar bushy-haired woman. It was the girl from Professor Scamander's photograph!

"Mr. Weasley, this – this woman? She looks familiar."

"She would, wouldn't she?" he replied mysteriously. "Hermione. My wife."

"A beautiful woman, your wife," I told him slowly.

"Ex-wife, actually. She left me years ago."

I looked at the photograph again and noticed the Hermione woman's hand. On the middle finger of her right hand was a ring – my ring to be exact. Was it a coincidence? Perhaps the ring was made by a popular jeweler? Or maybe that woman sold it to Astoria or even my father?

"The ring she's wearing. It's like – " I flustered. "Why?"

"Some questions should no longer be asked, Miss Malfoy," Mr. Weasley said, turning away. "At least do not ask me."

My visit to the coffee shop puzzled me to no end. It is nighttime now and I think it's best to follow Mr. Weasley's advice and start asking some proper questions – to the proper people. I walk quietly outside my room and tiptoe down the hall to Scorpius'. If there is anyone who I trust to tell me the truth, it is him. He is my brother and he loves me. I deserve to know.

I knock on his door lightly and after a few seconds, Scorpius' face – so much like our father's – greets me.

"Cass! What's the matter?" he asks with surprise.

"I want to know everything," I reply darkly. "Who is Hermione Weasley?"

***

The Malfoys, for a very long time, were not considered the best of people. My grandfather, Lucius Malfoy, was a known and convicted Death Eater, at one time Lord Voldemort's right hand man. The Dark Arts were something of a family hobby and so were acts of pureblooded bigotry. The Second Wizarding War was the last in a series of events that eventually brought the Malfoy family down. My father – despite his tendency for infidelity – proved himself to be a good man of the community, however, and after the war, slowly redeemed the family name, restoring the family pride.

I suppose they were happy. Scorpius says he remembers them being so. They were constantly watched but also admired. In the end that was better than being left alone and looked down upon – exactly what happened when he left.

"Where are you going, Cass?" Scorpius asks, entering my room.

"To…walk," I say lamely. He merely nods, leaves and I make my way towards the front door.

I walk for a good thirty minutes before I take out a piece of paper from the pocket of my cloak. This is definitely the place. I take a deep breath and map in hand, push the gate with my shoulder. The air is cool and suddenly, a sense of fear overcomes me. The importance of what I am about to do, however, forces me to gather enough courage to keep walking until I am faced with what I now see as my chance for redemption.

Before me stands, simple and lacking the usual Malfoy splendor, my father's gravestone.

_They say the greatest falls the hardest of all._

_Draco Malfoy._

_1980 - 2021_

Kneeling, I take out another piece of paper and unfold it slowly. I have never been much of a letter writer. I have never been much for expressing my feelings either. But things change, you see. Sometimes they just have to.

"Father. Writing it – no, saying it – feels quite weird. But you are he, aren't you? I wouldn't be here if not for you. Though there have been many times when I have regretted my birth or existence, I am at a point now where I am actually thankful to be alive and breathing.

I've hated you for so long, Father, and I've known no other way to see or feel for you. I blamed you for everything that went wrong. In a way, I guess I was correct. You were the heart of the Manor. Your wife loved you, your son adored you and when you left, you took away the very thing they'd made themselves live for.

Astoria – no longer Mother – changed when you left, did you know? Scorpius said she used to be very sweet and doting, took great care of the both of you. Well, she never was that way with me. I felt more like a stranger than her daughter actually. Funny. But knowing what I know of her now – what she had to go through – I can wholeheartedly say that I forgive her. Besides, it has not been so bad, living in the Malfoy Manor, when I properly put aside my pettiness. I cannot begin to imagine how it would have been if you had left me with that redhead ex-husband of hers instead.

You were very in-love with Hermione Granger – Weasley, weren't you? Professor Scamander told me so. I've kind of felt it too. The Crimson Room in the Manor was obviously made for her. You were planning to ask for her hand in marriage before you found out she had already accepted her best friend's proposal. The band on my right hand – I presume it was to have been the engagement ring.

Considering the time in which the both of you fell in-love, right after the war, you never could have been together for real, could you? Your family would have protested and her friends would have found a way to assassinate you or at least put you behind bars. I think the both of you were young and weren't really ready for the risks yet. You'd spent the last few years in conflict. Perhaps you just wanted to take it all easy for once.

Astoria found the supposed engagement ring by mistake the year Scorpius turned thirteen. She confronted you about it and you said it was over – had been over for the past ten years. Still, something drove her to give that ring to your Gryffindor sweetheart – an act whose motives I still cannot comprehend. Perhaps it was her way of defense, or of keeping the family together, of keeping you. Maybe she thought that if she only accepted it, the problem would eventually go away.

Scorpius is vague on the details but he believes you rekindled your relationship with _her_ that same year – and left the family for good one year after. At least I am now assured that I was not the reason for your departure. I was not even born yet.

Your love for the Muggleborn – it wasn't your only secret. You were sick with a _Muggle_ disease too. Scorpius doesn't know what it was called. I've tried to research what it was based on some descriptions but I haven't gotten much. All I've managed to gather is that it was fatal and contagious. You didn't want to be found out. The Malfoy money went to looking for a cure but there was nothing there. You attempted to seek help in the Wizarding world. That's when it all fell apart, when people found out.

I feel sorry for you, Father. For the very first time, I feel sorry for you. All your work went to waste. And all because the needle of a Muggle druggie you tried to help found its way in your arm. They shunned you, the other witches and wizards, and the life you'd made for yourself and your family was about to be lost.

I see now that your departure probably brought more good than harm in the end. You couldn't have stayed in the Manor. Somehow, you would have infected the both of them. You wanted them to have better, didn't you? For years, you'd deceived your wife into thinking you loved her. Perhaps you thought she finally deserved better. Oh but it broke their hearts anyway. Scorpius has learned to accept it and to understand but I don't think Astoria has or ever will.

On another note, I admire _her_ for taking you into her arms and giving you the love you deserved. She took you when no one else would and gave up her own life – literally and figuratively – for and to be with you. I pity Mr. Weasley and their children for having lost such a woman at your expense. Love appears to be a strange thing, however, and maybe someday I will understand just why that is so.

You were a great man, Father, an intelligent and talented wizard. I don't think I ever gave you credit for that. We would have been close, I believe. You would have loved me."

At this point, tears cloud my eyes and I let out a whimper. They say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. _I _never loved. I _never_ loved. I never _loved_.

"I am sorry, Father. I am very, very sorry."

***

For the longest time, I have felt only one emotion for my father.

Now, I have several.

Remorse. Pity. Admiration. And yes, maybe even love. _Love_.

***

I stand up and turn my attention towards the gravestone standing just as simply beside my father's. Lifting my right hand, I brush my fingers against the words carved into the stone.

_Here rests the body of one of the most amazing women the Wizarding world has ever met. The greatest of heroes, the most compassionate of friends, the loveliest of wives and the best of mothers._

_Hermione Granger_

_1980 - 2021_

I smile a bit, seeing that "Weasley" had been dropped somewhere along the way. Brushing the dirt off my cloak, I stand up and finger my ring absently.

"Father, _Mother_," I look briefly at her headstone again - how lucky I am to have been the product of the love of such a great wizard and witch. "We are all finally _free_."

_-End-_

**A/N: Reviews? :)**

**

* * *

****

* * *

**


End file.
